Over It
by EleanorK
Summary: How else could she do it, really, when he thought about it? That was the thing, he though, as he looked down at her, as he entered her slow and easy. She was still Carol, even if she was holding back. She was in there, somewhere, all right. He was right to come for her, right to push her buttons, right to say the words.


There was a time when all she did was pester him to say something. To listen to her reason. To stay close with everyone else.

And he could do nothing but keep moving. Pushing past her. He'd finally found a life where it mattered what he did. If he got up in the morning. If he made new arrows, if he tuned coughing engines, if he kept night watch. If he had enough strength to dig a hole and fill it with someone they'd loved and fought for and needed.

But now it had all reversed. Rick banished her and even since they'd gotten her back, she'd been wary. He'd catch her staring, but it wasn't at him, or anyone else. Her eyes had that look. Far and unfocused and so tired.

He'd tried. Told her a hundred times he was glad to have her back. Brought her fresh water. Made sure she got enough to eat. Checked her gear and her rifle to make sure everything was in order. That last thing had pissed her off good. He hadn't meant that, but that's how she took it.

* * *

One night when he was supposed to be sleeping he couldn't stop thinking about it. She had her own house now, apart from the other women. Everything was in flux in Alexandria; no one knew who was in charge, what to do or think. There was Sasha on the tower. Tara stunned and stuck in bed. Abe and Rosita silent but still getting after it. Glenn and Maggie keeping to themselves, avoiding Nicholas. Deanna worthless in grief. Rick and Morgan circling in a tense place where it was hard to tell who had control of his mind and who didn't.

Only Aaron was talking to him regular. And while Daryl appreciated the gesture, he didn't need anything from Aaron.

He had watched Carol drop her pretense. The housewife sweaters, the forced smiles. If it took tragedy to knock that shit off, well, he was privately glad. But that didn't mean she was doing any better. He could see by the way her jeans hung on her, by the sunburn and the dirt on her arms, her hair growing wild and looking stuck-up every which way, that something in her had broken down. She reminded him of himself. The part of him that was a stubborn pain in the ass.

He put on his boots and a shirt. Nodded on his way out to Aaron, who was sitting up reading over some maps at the kitchen table."Everything all right?"

"Going over to Carol's," he said. "In case anyone needs me."

Aaron smirked but Daryl didn't acknowledge it. He knew what this was. He didn't need anyone else's opinion.

When he got to her house, it was dark. She wasn't on the porch. She could have been up, though. None of them were used to using light at night when they didn't have to.

He knocked and waited. Knocked again. Nothing. He tried the doorknob and it turned.

He pushed the door in and called, "Carol?"

"In the back," she called.

He stumbled around the house - the furniture had a different layout - and flicked on his mag lite on his belt to find the way. He called her name a few times just to gauge where she was; in houses as big as these were it was easy to get lost. Finally he found her on the back stoop, in front of the trellised patio. Sitting on the back step, a glass of what looked like whiskey in her hands. Dressed in dark pants and a white t-shirt. Barefoot, though she had a pair of boots beside her on the step.

"What do you need?" she asked, turning around to glance up at him while taking another drink.

"Don't need anything," he said. "Gotta talk about what I want."

She was quiet for a moment. Then slowly, she stood up. Exhaled, put on that fake smile.

"A drink, then," she said. But he could see how skittish she was.

She poured him a drink in the kitchen and even lit a candle that she set in the middle of the empty countertop. He took the drink from her and had a sip but then he put it down on the counter. She stared at the glass of whiskey; he stared at her.

"Gonna say this once," he said. "And you're gonna listen and not bolt."

"Daryl…"

"Don't interrupt, either. What I'm telling you is that this is all done. This lying and hiding. This bullshit. Pretending you're some fancy bitch."

He saw her tense at the word "bitch." Good. He had more to say on that score.

She stood up straighter, looking pissed. "I think it's clear I've given that up."

"You're not there yet. You still think it's all _you_. All you against the world. Let me tell you, lady. From someone who's been there: that shit is over. And it all ends in the same place. A big old hole I'll get stuck digging. Or someone else'll get stuck digging. You don't have to like me and you don't have to talk to me. But be honest with me one last time before you go back to freezing me out."

He picked up his whiskey and took a drink. Finished the whole thing. He was scared shitless talking to her like this and didn't want her to see him shaken up about it.

"What do you want me to say to you, then?" she asked. "So honestly?"

Then he couldn't hold it in. He was angry, he was tired, he was desperate.

He slammed down the glass of whiskey on the counter and reached back behind his shirt for his knife. He could see her eyes flare wide in fear and then he smacked the knife down beside the glass of whiskey.

"Goddammit, I'm done with this," he said, and he walked toward her, pushed her against the sink counter and hitched his hands around her sagging pants, his fingers slipping into her beltloops, pulling her up straighter, her mouth almost level with his. They stared at each other for a long minute, the light of the candle behind him. Breathing each other's breath.

He could see her calculate the danger - did he have another weapon? - and he shook his head. His hands around her waist felt the knife she hid on her belt and he patted the hilt of it. Letting her know it was okay. That he didn't care what she brought against him. Her hands reached up to his shirt. Felt the pockets, slid down his sides. He shivered. His dick was already getting hard. He wished he could stop that, but it was like everything inside him had stopped doing its regular job.

"Carol," he whispered, closing his eyes, his mouth nearing hers. Stopping on it. One sweet slow press.

"Carol," he said again. "It's just me. It's just me."

* * *

"Come on," he said. Bent down on the floor and swiped up his shirt where she'd dropped it. Took her hand and pulled.

"Where?"

He stopped, glanced back at her. "I ain't gonna strip down in a kitchen."

She laughed in the dark. "Why not?"

"You want that?" He pressed her against the counter. Dug his hands under her shirt and pushed it up. "You wanna go right here?" he said, whispering in her neck, running his hands against her tits. "Up on the counter?"

He unlatched her bra with one snap and tossed it behind him. Groped and rubbed her breasts with greed. "Goddammit, it'll go one way or the other, I guess."

She was still, but he could hear her sighing. In a good way. Her hands wrapped around his head as he lowered to suck her nipples.

"Jesus," she said. "Daryl, I..."

"Fuck it," he said, stepping back, wiping his mouth. "We're doing this like normal people. Don't make me carry you over my shoulder."

* * *

She didn't let him carry her. Or give her a ride on his back. She just took his hand and he pulled her through the dark house, over the quiet carpets, up the squeaking wooden stairs. He stopped in the hallway, motioned.

"Which one is it?"

She pointed at the last door on the left and he pushed open the door. Flipped on the light by the bed. There were clothes on the floor. There was a pile of books on the half of the bed she didn't sleep on, and the half of the bed she did was rumpled. There was an empty water glass on the nightstand. The window was open, carrying in breeze and the sound of night insects.

He sat down on the bed, pulled her by the hand. "Get on over here," he said. "Sick to death of waiting."

"Waiting," she said, coming close to him. One arm covered her chest. "You've been waiting for what?"

He didn't answer. He went back to her tits. They were small but round. He liked touching the line of white skin that separated the top half with the bronzed, freckled skin. Then he licked it. Then he pulled her to sit on top of him.

"Daryl..."

"What." He was grinding her against his hard dick.

"What do you want from me?" she asked. "What, exactly? You said be honest so..."

He tipped her over him and her hands braced against his wide shoulders. Their faces were an inch apart, whiskey breath clouding his senses.

"I want to fuck you," he said. "I want to fuck you and fall asleep. Right here."

She was silent for a minute. Her fingers edged around his face, feeling the stubbly jawline.

"Okay," she said. "Anything else?"

"I dunno," he said, hands running along her sides, down over her ass. "Wake up and fuck you again?"

She laughed then and he pressed her down over his dick. He didn't think he could stand it, how good it felt, her hands on him, his hands on her. Her tits brushing against the hair on his chest.

"That work for you?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Good," he said. Then he flipped her over and started unzipping her pants. He tapped her hip and said, "lift up for me" and she obeyed him until her pants cleared her hips and he tugged them down her legs.

He ran his hands up her legs and she twitched: "Haven't shaved in forever."

"Don't give a shit," he said, reaching her underwear and cupping her there with his palm. Then, pressing his face to the front of her panties, right in the triangle of her pussy, he looped his fingers under the soft cotton and yanked them down as well.

"Daryl..." she said, her voice a warning, but he went at her pussy without a pause. Licking and sucking. Not interested in hearing it about shaving or whatever. Just wanting his face there, right in that spot. Right in the heart of her. Where she was dripping wet. Exactly like he'd hoped. He could count the times he'd eaten pussy one hand and he hadn't had the slightest notion of how to make a woman come. But that didn't stop him from wanting it.

He settled down in, putting his weight on his elbows, pushing his hands up her belly. "Move up for me," he told her and she inched back on the bed. He pulled her thighs back to give his mouth a better angle and she was sighing loud and breathing hard and his dick was about to bust out of his fly from how turned on it made him, but he kept at it. Kept licking at her sweetness. Sucking. Thumbing her open so he could get further in to taste. His face covered in her juice, in her soft sounds.

Then she tapped his shoulder.

"Daryl?"

"Yeah."

"You even know..." She stopped. He looked up, waited for her to finish her sentence.

"You even know what you're going for down there?" she asked.

"Uh..." He would have died if she hadn't been smiling. "Not really. You wanna clue me in?"

"Come here," she said and pulled him over herself. Wiped at his whiskers.

"I have no idea what to tell you," she said. "Never had that done since I was in high school."

Then she laughed and he relaxed a little.

"But I think I want to get on with it," she said. Reached down, grasped his dick through his jeans. "You know?"

Oh, he knew. He nodded. Lifted up and let her hands uncoil his belt, unzip and pull him out. She pushed his jeans off his hips but then his belt got caught up in things and he had to stand up, step out of everything, undo his boots. Stood there, bending over and pushing and pulling, bare naked in front of her like a goddamn idiot. His dick sky-high the whole time. Jesus Goddamn Christ. He felt like a crazy person, for bossing her around, storming over here, the whole thing.

But then she sat up and put her arms around his hips, pressed him closer. Leaned down and licked the tip of his cock. And he didn't care anymore. He just wanted to plow into her without one more thought or word. He knocked her back, then, and she was smiling as he did it. Her hands all over his shoulders, arms, back.

He realized, fitting himself between her open legs, kissing her again, trying to slow it down, that they'd need more words.

 _Like, did she have any condoms? Did she need any? Did she have something else?_

But then she reached up and grasped him in her hand. Guided him in, gentle and nice. How else could she do it, really, when he thought about it? That was the thing, he though, as he looked down at her, as he entered her slow and easy. She was still Carol, even if she was holding back. She was in there, somewhere, all right. He was right to come for her, right to push her buttons, right to say the words.

Her fingers pressed around the small of his back, sending him deeper. Goddamn. Goddamn. Nothing else like being inside a woman. Nothing else.

She reached up and kissed his neck. Bit at him.

He slammed into her harder. Again. Again.

Goddamn. _This_ woman. Her. Nothing else.

When he came, his eyes were shut but she said his name. "Yes, Daryl. Yes."

* * *

He didn't have much experience with the whole lying in bed with a woman thing. Afterwards, it was usually pull up your pants and go back into the bar for another round. Or fall asleep on the sofa and slip out of the trailer before anyone woke up. There was no luxury to it.

But now he was in Carol's bed, naked as a fucking jay, and she was downstairs, doing something. Using the bathroom? He didn't know. Maybe some birth control thing? He needed to ask her. He didn't know shit beyond rubbers and clearly they'd not used one.

He saw the pile of books on the floor. They'd knocked them off the bed during the whole thing. One book was about birds. One was black and white, looked like photos. Two were cookbooks. Part of him felt shy now, for coming here and demanding from her. If he had known about these books, maybe he'd see she was going to be all right.

Part of him didn't feel shy at all, though. He was over it, this waiting, this watching, this not saying it. He sat up, flipped the pillow behind his back. Drank deep from the glass of water on the nightstand. The whole bed smelled like her. And like sex. Like both of them. He felt shy again, and proud. Smiled. Leaned back and closed his eyes. Listened, counted her steps up the squeaky wood stairs.

"What took you so long?" he asked.

She stood there in her t-shirt, nothing else. Held two glasses and the whiskey.

"You want me to tell you everything now? All of my secrets now become known?" She was being flirty, in that slight way of hers. Teasing him, he could tell.

"Gimme a knock of that," he said, nodding toward the booze.

She handed him a glass of the whiskey. He sipped it and stared at her.

"Go on," he said. "Take that off. Get back in here."

She stood still, hands on hips. He took another sip. What in the fuck were they both doing, now? He didn't know. God, but he was dumb when it came to any of this.

"Carol?"

"Make me," she said.

He set down the glass. He pulled the sheets back and stood up. He saw her tremble, almost step back from him, but she stood here, arms crossing under her tits. One side of her t-shirt rucked up her hip a bit and he could almost see pussy, just one more bare inch. She caught him staring. She smiled.

And he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't be a badass. He fell to his knees and she came to him and he wrapped his arms around her, pushing up her shirt, pressing his face to her belly.

"I can't, anymore," he said.

"Can't what?" she asked, her hands in his hair, the nails scratching through it in a way that made him shiver.

"Can't pretend," he said. "I don't want to be without you. I'm tired of waiting to say it. To do it. I'm over it."

Then she was kneeling too and kissing him and licking his chest and sitting over him, her pussy warm and wet against his belly and he wanted to fuck again, wanted it so bad, but this time he wanted her to come. To let go, break loose, just like she'd let him the first time.

"I want to get you off," he said. She was busy sucking at his neck, rubbing her hands over his arms.

"Okay," she said. But she didn't move.

"No," he said. "Listen." She sat up. Looked at him.

"Show me," he said. "Show me how."

She sat back, her body spread over his hips like an altar. He hands circled around her waist and back, loose. She slipped her fingers into his mouth and he sucked them, automatically, like a baby.

"Carol...?"

Then he saw. Her wet fingers traveling down her belly, toward her pussy. Disappearing into the dark hair. The wetness of her on his belly against him as she touched herself. He reached up to play with her tits and she shrugged him off, like it was distracting her.

He kept his hands at her hips, then. Let her do what she had to. Watched, though it wasn't easy to see exactly in the dimness where their bodies met what she was doing. He focused on her face, her neck tilted back, her eyes shut. He wondered if this was hard for her. How long it would take. He felt embarrassed comparing it to how quick he went off earlier. Jesus, what he didn't know about women was a whole lot.

And then he felt it. Her body tensed over him. "Oh," she breathed. "Oh, god." Her knees clutched around him and she gasped again. He watched her like he was going to be tested on it. Her hand came up, rubbed around her neck. "Jesus," she said.

Without a word, he pushed her back until she was over his dick and slammed into her. Probably he should have waited. Probably she needed a minute to recover but he'd never been so hard in his life and she felt so perfect on his cock, he couldn't regret it if he wanted to.

She rolled her hips and he nearly died, it felt so good. He reached for her tits and felt her hard nipples between his fingers.

"Fuck," she said, rocking against him.

"Yeah," he said back, his hands squeezing her tits.

They realized how that sounded. They both started laughing and they stopped moving. Laced their hands together. She looked down at him.

"I've never done that before. Never with anyone else. Never in front of anyone else. Just you."

"Good."

"Did you like it?"

"Hell yeah."

"Did you...see how it works?"

"A little," he said. "I got the general idea. You can always refresh me on it, if you want."

She smiled. He smiled back. Then she got serious.

"I don't know how to fix anything, Daryl. There's so much to..."

"Shh," he said, bring her hand to his mouth. Kissing it. "You don't need to. You don't need to do anything."

"I'm trying."

"We both are, darlin."

* * *

They finished on the bed and this time, he let her lay there while he brought her a fresh glass of water, a damp towel to wipe off with. They were both sweating. He stripped the bed bare and cranked open the other window and they laid out on the white sheets stark naked, the breeze coming over their bodies.

"I could get pregnant," she said. "But I probably won't."

"You don't use nothing, then?"

"No," she said. "Ed didn't allow it."

Jesus. Would that fucker's ghost ever go away? He wanted to ask what happened if she'd had another baby. What happened if she didn't want to have sex. He guessed the answers weren't happy ones.

"How...didn't you...?"

"Women have their ways, Daryl," she said, eyes on the ceiling.

"You get pregnant, I'm on it," he said. He turned toward her, rubbed his palm over her belly. "I swear it. You don't have to worry about nothing."

"Nobody can say that anymore and have it be true, Daryl," she said.

"Wasn't true before, either," he replied. "Still gonna try."

She didn't say anything, but leaned into him and he pulled her closer. Their bodies were sticky, sweaty, but he didn't care. He was getting sleepy now and he all he wanted was her softness beside him, at easy reach. He could feel exhaustion take him over.

"What's going to happen tomorrow?" she asked, shaking him awake again.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," she said. "What do we do tomorrow? You moving in here? Is that what you want, Daryl?"

"That what you want?"

"Do you?"

He lifted up on his elbow, looked down at her. Rearranged the pillow for her, so it wasn't hanging off the side of the bed. Kissed her.

"I'd move in a heart-beat," he said. "I'll do whatever you say."

"Okay."

"But tomorrow, I really only got one plan."

"What's that?"

"Recon with Aaron around noon."

"Oh."

"But that's just work bullshit. Before that, my main plan is to wake up and roll you over on me for a bit. See if I can't figure out how you tick."

She smiled, looking a little shy.

He kissed her jaw. "Then I'll take a shower. Maybe eat some pancakes."

"We don't have any eggs."

"Right," he said. "Fuck the pancakes."

"I can make you toast?" she offered.

"Fine," he said, smoothing her hair from her face. "You make me some toast and you clear a couple of them drawers for me while I'm out. Can you do that?"

"Yeah. How many drawers?"

"I don't know. Two?"

"That's it?"

"I'm not one for fancy things, Carol."

"You're not kidding."

"Now let's go to sleep, huh, girl? You've worn me the hell out."

He settled back down, his head on the pillow beside hers. He'd been tired and sore before in this life, but that wasn't anything like how he felt now. The cool breeze rushed over them in a hush and he could hear the tick and click of insects out in the bushes. Her calm breath beside him, the soft shape of her left tit against his chest.

"Daryl? Can you pull up the sheet? Just the sheet? I'm a little cold."

He reached over, covered both of them, snapping the sheet over them and letting his feet hang out the bottom. She coiled underneath it, clutching it to her chest, her ass brushed against his thigh and he felt the sweet tension and relief of being next to someone he loved send him off to oblivion.


End file.
